


the star to every wandering bark

by addictedtoacertainlifestyle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Author Shamelessly Projects Their Own Insecurities Onto a Character, Except for each other, Extremely light angst, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Soft Ben Solo, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, mostly just fluff, they're not perfect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 03:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15940754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedtoacertainlifestyle/pseuds/addictedtoacertainlifestyle
Summary: There is something else as well, an instinctual drive that’s making him go, almost calling Ben to Takodana; much like an idea for a novel, a terribly persistent and gnawing thought at the back of his mind that will not go away until he does something about it.A change of scenery is always good for one’s mind. By alternating one’s perspective the reality might change as well.--When Ben Solo travels to Takodana in the name of his second novel, meeting an impossibly intriguing woman named Rey wasn't exactly what he envisioned. But the universe has a funny way of working things out.





	the star to every wandering bark

 The mark is beautiful, Ben will give it that.

  It’s simple enough to please his eye, since it’s not like some of those absurdly detailed, posh marks he’s seen during his lifetime. Only a fine outline traces the shape of a star—Polaris, to be precise. It looks a lot like any other star, bright and round, but the long stripes of light inked on his skin make it stand out somehow, almost glowing from within, and he knows it’s not an ordinary star. The brightest object in the firmament, commonly known as Polaris, he quickly realised was what he has been bestowed with.

  He doesn’t look at it often, and sometimes he even forgets its existence, for it lives in such a spot it’s easy to miss; hidden away on his left shoulder blade.  Many people miss it as well—soul marks are usually in a place that it’s rather easy to notice, to help with the search of your soulmate—and sometimes it has resulted in curious inquiries of whether he is one of those rare, lonely people with no soulmate at all. He hates to disappoint people, but each time he just shakes his head and gives them a strained smile. Because somewhere out there he’s got his other half, the missing piece to his heart, the light to his darkness—you name it. But the truth is, he hasn’t been interested in finding his soulmate. He’s doing perfectly fine on his own.

  Still, sometimes his mind will give in to the tempting thought of a soulmate. He wouldn’t call it daydreaming; he’s not a teenager anymore. More like contemplation, usually in the middle of the night when his draft is keeping him up and he’s trying to avoid writing at any cost. The words refuse to transfer from his head to the document and then he cannot help but wonder if his soulmate is awake as well, possibly on the other side of the world. His mind begins to drift quickly. He can’t help those thoughts—someone out there shares his mark. He has always been interested in the fundamentals of soulmates, purely on a theoretical level if nothing else. How can the universe hold such power to bind you to someone?

  Those thoughts do not dwell in him for very long.

  He hasn’t had a very positive experience when it comes to soulmates. Having a soulmate doesn’t magically allow your relationship to be stable, even though you’d think that would happen. It requires work as much as any other kind of relationship, compromises and even trades of choices. Two of the most compatible people fused together should result in a mutually working relationship more often than not. But that wasn’t quite the case with his parents. While they did love each other, deeply so, work always came first; they found solace in their respective careers in a way they couldn’t in each other and accepted it wholly. That apparently worked fine before him, but after he arrived, the sands shifted.

  Maybe it was his tendency to withdraw in new, uncomfortable situations, ever since infancy. Perhaps they grew tired of his constant nightmares, always of things he couldn’t remember after waking up. There was only the haunting feeling in his chest that remained all the way to his adolescence, whenever the nightmares occurred. He was quick to anger, too, but it was always diminished as genetics. _A firecracker_ , Leia used to say, _just like his parents_. He was a handful, that’s certain.

  It doesn’t matter what the reason was, not anymore.

  With his mother back in Alderaan and Han gods know where, Ben was able to settle back in Chandrila when he returned from Coruscant nearly five years ago. He is still glad of it; this city has always been _home_ to him, ever since he was a child. It feels safe in a way he cannot explain, comfortable and familiar. The view from his balcony that overlooks the Hanna River never fails to soothe him, especially in the evenings when the silhouette of the city bestows its bright lights in surreal stripes on the evermoving surface of the river.

  Right now, however, it’s early morning and he leans against the balcony’s railing as he tries to wake himself up. The coffee he made is slowly kicking in, but caffeine has never worked that well for him anyways; it’s more of a habit. The river is a deep navy blue today, and a distinct nip is detectable in the air. Winter is on its way, slow and steady. He’s looking forward to it—not the rain or the fading daylight but the simple fact that around him time moves on, leaves wilting and giving way to snow. If nothing else, changing seasons are always a constant in his otherwise rather nondescript life.

  He would rather have something else to guide his way and bring permanence in his life which he could hold onto. He has his routines that come from his work; teaching rowdy first year literature students at the Chandrila’s Central University requires following a schedule, and he likes to think he’s good at sticking to it. The life he lives is not an unpleasant one, but it is missing something. Most of the time he can ignore it, or even forget the strange feeling for long periods of time. But during a moment like this, when he’s not really focusing on anything, his mind is allowed to fixate and draw conclusions and realise that yes, while things are good and steady, everything feels… crooked. Only a little bit, but just enough that he both notices and grows irritated by it.

  The sky starts to glow a deep orange, morning teetering on the edge of the dawn. Ben knows that he needs to leave soon if he wants to get to the train station in time. But he gives himself one more minute to look at the river, in attempt to prepare himself for the trip ahead of him.

\--

  Even though it’s only the beginning of September, the tell-tale signs of fall are already visible. The vibrant green leaves have begun to fade into rusty reds and oranges. Every so often a gust of wind stirs up and it’s not as warm as it used to be, making Ben burrow into his scarf even tighter. The air itself feels damp and heavy. The skies above him slowly filling in with grey, dull clouds, full with rain and ready to release their contests at any given point. He can only hope it holds back until he gets on the train.

  It’s very early, and so he doesn’t cross paths with anyone as he strolls through the backstreets and alleyways of the city—everyone else has common sense and knows it’s no use to be awake before eight on Saturdays. He doesn’t mind the quiet, since he has always found comfort in the absence of others, especially in vast spaces, where it feels the easiest to take everything in and get lost in thought without the fear of someone interrupting. But that doesn’t mean he is not interested in other people, even if only from a rhetoric perspective; whenever he passes a door he briefly wonders who would come to open it, were he to knock on it. Maybe it’s the writer in him, looking for inspiration at every given opportunity.

  Soon enough, the city will wake up, drowsy and delightful to enjoy the remains of the morning, but he won’t be there to see it.

  At the train station, a glance to the notice board informs him his train has yet to arrive, already ten minutes late. He is in no hurry, so he doesn’t mind; his meeting with Maz isn’t until around two in afternoon, anyways. He finally has a proper excuse to go somewhere beyond this city, and he plans to use the chance well instead of simply coming and going, only interested in the business he has to do. He’s never been good with that.

  When Maz told him that she was going to return to Takodana after two weeks of travelling around the country, he jumped straight at the opportunity, to both see her and get out of Chandrila for a few days. The city is comfortable, yes, but he personally has travelled far too little as an adult as he’d have liked. There is something else as well, an instinctual drive that’s making him go, almost calling him to Takodana; much like an idea for a novel, a terribly persistent and gnawing thought at the back of his mind that will not go away until he does something about it.

   _A change of scenery is always good for one’s mind. By alternating one’s perspective the reality might change as well._

  Words that sound eerily like those of his mother reverberate through him. Leia has always been one of those people who seem to have a solution for every problem, words for any tricky situation. That was one of the reasons he looked up to her as a child. She knew everything, or so it felt like.

  It’s been little shy of a year since he last saw her. Every once in a while, she calls him. He answers all of her calls, partly out of a sense of duty. Things between them are better now than a few years before, and truly, he knows she cares, even loves him, but holding on to grudges comes easily to him. He feels better when he gets to be separated from his parents and have an identity of his own and not the one he was given from being born to the tumultuous Skywalker family. And when the other half of him comes from the Solos—well, let’s just say that there was no other option for him.

  But he can’t lie, not every single part of his life has been completely horrible. At times, when the waters between his parents were calm, he was usually calm as well. They used to travel a lot, mostly because of Leia, but whenever Han had time, he would take Ben with him. He doesn’t remember there having been many of those, but just enough that he _remembers_ them.

  And then there’s Maz Kanata, obviously.

  When his mother found out he was going to write and publish a book, she immediately recommended Maz to him. _She’s just wonderful, an old friend of Han’s, really smart_ , she said, _you’ll get along really well_.

  To his surprise, they actually did.

  Without Maz, Ben is sure he wouldn’t have published his first—and so far, only—book, _The Days Before Us_. Maz is a brilliant editor, sometimes knowing the plot of his story or the development of his characters better than himself. She knows what he has to write and what not. But she doesn’t take away his style—simple but detailed descriptions and stream-of-consciousness—she just makes them fit into his story. Whenever he’s had problems with it, she’s always somehow happened to be in Chandrila so that they could meet and mull over whatever it was that he struggled with. Each time she’s called it a coincidence, and each time he’s doubted it.

  Hopefully his current draft won’t be impossible to improve, even for her.

  In the end, his train arrives at the station twenty minutes late. A handful of people board the train with him, sour expressions on their faces from the delay. He follows them along and takes his window seat, opening the current draft on his laptop even before the train leaves. He is terribly anxious about it. Nearly forty thousand words in and he has no idea what to write next.

  Everything is right there in his head, perfectly formed paragraphs that set and carry the tone of the story in such a functional way that frustration wells up inside him whenever he writes—he can never capture those thoughts quite right. It’s always been like that, so in a way he has grown used to it. But it still stings every time. One of the main reasons he doesn’t enjoy _The Days Before Us_ as much as he probably should is that he knows all the things that it could’ve been. Even with Maz’s brilliant editing, his strange restrictions kept him from actually writing it the way he wanted to.

  Right now, he’s two thirds through the next book, a loose sequel with the working title _Home By Tomorrow_. Ben is glad he got a chance to write it—after finishing the first one he knew his characters’ story wasn’t over just yet. He wants to keep on writing, but he hit a rough patch about two weeks ago that still hasn’t eased its grip on him. He hopes seeing Maz once again—it’s been a long time since they last met—will help him, even if only a little bit.

  After a painfully slow two-hour train ride that is filled by staring at his draft and mindlessly wasting the time away on his phone, an announcement tells him that they are to arrive to Takodana in ten minutes. With a relieved sigh he looks over and outside the window of the train, where the urban districts of Chandrila have changed into thick, lust forestry.

\--

  Takodana is nothing like Chandrila, Ben can see it right off the bat.

  When he steps to the platform, the sun is warm, and only a few wispy clouds scatter across the sky. The cold winds of the upcoming fall have not made their way into this secluded city just yet, so the breeze is pleasantly cool. Hidden away in the cusp of the huge mountain range and surrounded by thick, heavy forests, the city never has true, proper summers with blistering heat, only bright skies and warm sunlight. This year the season has decided to linger, a reminiscent of a Tatooinian summer. The stark difference between this and Chandrila’s melancholic weather is astounding, and he takes every bit of it in.

  He’s been in the city once before, but he was so young and it was only for such a short time that he can’t recall much of it. Ben prefers it this way; a part of him is somewhat excited to experience everything for the first time. He hasn’t been outside Chandrila in such a long time—time that can even be measured in years—that he finds childlike enthusiasm bubbling inside him. It feels odd, but he doesn’t dismiss it.

  His hotel is only a few blocks away from the station, so it’s easy for him to swing by there to leave his luggage behind before heading back to the streets. The buildings around him are a peculiar blend of decades’ old structures with paint slowly chipping off them mixed with relatively new, polished apartments and offices. The city respects its past but isn’t afraid to embrace the future.

  After walking around a few blocks, admiring the well-put appearance of the city, he finds himself in front of a coffee shop. He walked past a handful of them already, but all of them were still closed—it’s Saturday, after all, and only a little past ten. This one, however, is open.

  At first, he thinks he shouldn’t go in. He’s had coffee already, so he’s not in need of any. But the storefront looks inviting, and there don’t seem to be too many people inside. He could try to be productive now and work out a few kinks of his draft, since he got hardly anything done during the train ride. Besides, he thinks that coffee shops are the best way to get to know a city. He hasn’t had his trademark four-dollar espresso in a while, anyways. Maybe he can indulge himself, just this once.

    When Ben opens the door to step inside, a small bell rings on top of the door. Inside, the place looks polished but not clinical. To soften the atmosphere, behind the counter and above the booths there are small shelves that nurse different kinds of plants; cacti, potted ivy, fittonia and succulents.

  A young woman peeks out from the backroom as she hears the bell. They give each other a polite greeting, and Ben walks over to the counter. He orders what he usually does—a decaffeinated caffé lungo, nothing over-the-top, like those ridiculously sweetened frappes he’s seen people drink in earnest.

  There’s a booth by the window that he takes, and he opens his laptop again. Most of his writing happens in his apartment, at night when it’s all quiet and he’s tired, so that he won’t be too tough on his words. He can see now why he chooses to do that — in broad daylight everything sounds bad, even the sentences he’s been thinking about for a while. They all feel foolish, and most definitely not good enough.

 His overly critical thoughts are soon interrupted when the woman from behind the counter stops by his booth with his order. She sets the cup down next to his laptop. Ben expects her to leave and continue with her work, but suddenly, she speaks.

  ”You’re a writer, huh?”

  He’s startled, not because of her words or—well, he is surprised because he’s never been one for small talk, especially with complete strangers. He never initiates, and neither does anyone else. She must’ve seen the document open on his computer, caught a glimpse of his writing when she passed by his table and it piqued her interest. Why she decided to act on it, he does not know.

  “Uh, yeah, I am,” he manages to answer without sounding completely foolish. He knows how to chit-chat, but the other participant doesn’t usually look as lovely as she does. An orange-and-white apron is tied around her so it hides her slim frame. Her hair is put up into three small buns, a peculiar look he has never seen before. She’s too far away from him and because of that, he cannot see the exact shine of her eyes, but there’s a small and enthusiastic smile on her face.

  “That’s cool! Any chance I might have a book of yours in my bookshelf?”

  And they never sound _actually_ interested in him like she does. He spares a quick glance at her name tag—soft cursive reads out a simple name: Rey.

_Who are you?_

  “Maybe. You like to read, then?”

  “Yep. Or I try to. I have like ten books on my reading list, but school and this job keep me busy enough,” she says with a sigh, “I really don’t have much time for anything else.”

  “That’s a shame. What kind of studies keep you so busy?”

  “Engineering, third year. It’s a lot of work but I love it.”

  She smiles again, but this one is not as genuine. Somehow, he knows what she’s expecting from him: a scoff, maybe some snide comments about her chosen line of study—some people could easily think her decision to study a predominantly male field merely as something amusing. Truth be told, he doesn’t mind what she studies. Now that he looks at her again, she looks exactly like an engineering major. The way she carries herself, upright and sure without seeming arrogant, but also holding something in, he recognizes. She definitely doesn’t belong to a full-time barista job, but somewhere she can shed off her façade, the patient voice and the tight smiles of a server and do what she truly wants to. Engineering is not something he’s familiar with, but his intuition tells him she is at her happiest breaking down things and assembling them back together again.

  “I can imagine. But if you love it enough I’m sure you can manage no matter how difficult it might get.”

  “It isn’t that difficult. Most of the time anyways,” she reveals. “Sometimes I even read the course books just to pass the time.”

  “Well, that’s a first. Do you have a favorite book besides the ones you study from?”

  The bell above the door rings as a customer leaves, and he is suddenly reminded of where they are. He got way too into this conversation, caught himself up into something he mistook for actual interest.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t keep you occupied when you’re working.”

  “No, don’t worry, it’s okay,” she reassures quickly. “As long as nobody comes in, I’m fine. And as for the book, well, I almost want to say I don’t have a favorite, but then I’d be lying. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but it’s called _The Days Before Us_.”

  Thank the Maker he wasn’t taking a sip of his coffee just now or otherwise he would’ve choked on it, completely taken aback by her words.

  Of course, out of every single kriffing book in the world, her favorite has to be _his_. Or maybe…

  “I see. Who’s the author?” he asks, trying to appear nonchalant.

  “He goes by the name Kylo Ren, but I really doubt that’s his real name. I’ve no idea who he is besides that he’s a fantastic writer, really.”

  He thanks the stars again, this time for his long hair that’s doing a great job of hiding his ears that must be stained pink by now. He can only hope the blush hasn’t reached his cheeks yet.

  A fantastic writer. As if. He’s mediocre at best, good in some measures. Or at least that’s what he tries to tell everyone, but for some reason he still receives praise quite a lot. He is used to it by now, but still, it feels somehow different coming from her. She is only judging him by his ability to write, which is exactly why he wanted to write the book under another name. Because the people who know him personally and have read his book are always so… restrained about everything when it comes to reviewing his writing, and he doesn’t want to add her to that group. That’s why he keeps silent on who the writer truly is and just says:

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of this Kylo Ren person.”

  “Well, if you ever get your hands on a copy I suggest you’d read it. He really has his way with words. You might appreciate it differently more than I do, being a writer and all. I just love the story itself; I think everyone can relate to the struggles he writes about, growing up and realizing that you’re on your own. There’s hope, too, hidden between the lines and that’s why I love it so much. It’s honest and realistic but never in a hopeless way. I— It’s an important book to me, and I’d love everyone else to read it as well.”

  Ben is flattered, he cannot deny it; the way she speaks of his story, words flowing out in a way it sounds like she’s been actually thinking about it. Rey really seems to relate to his writing on a more personal level—and it’s such a fresh change from the usual, the mindless praise he gets. His words have actually affected someone, a person has found something worthy in between the pages.

  The want to tell her the truth emerges up again, but he stays quiet. She just shared an important part of herself with him, and he doesn’t want to steal her thunder.

  “Alright, I will. I’ll trust your judgement on that one.”

  She is about to say something, but then another customer announces themselves with a ring of the bell and both of them turn to look at the door. Before she rushes back behind the counter, she gives him an apologetic smile which he accepts with a small nod. He brings the cup to his lips while watching her set the customer’s order into motion. The light from outside barges in to land on her face, forming sharp, solitary shadows but the kind smile she gives to the customer brightens the shadows into something much gentler, less harsh. As long as her gaze is not set on him, he observes her intently.

  She has awakened his interest with her genuine smile and the lilt of her voice. He finds himself inexorably drawn to her—even after such a short moment.

  By the time he’s done with his drink, a solid stream of customers is coming in. Ben doesn’t get to say goodbye to her properly, but their gazes do meet briefly as he walks by the counter. He manages to see her avert her eyes before she is hidden by the queue.  A sudden wave of warmth washes over him, and his heart increases its pace like he’d run a mile, leaving him breathless.

\--

  “Ben, are you listening?”

  “Uh, yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

  Maz smirks over her teacup, eyes trained on him with a teasing twinkle. She is a noticeably small woman, which should make her look fragile and weak, but the wide eyes that appear even larger through the lenses of her round glasses not only make her look slightly intimidating, but also extremely aware. Sometimes Ben thinks she can read minds, so well can she attune herself to someone else’s emotions. Her tiny form holds years’ worth of wisdom, all gathered from experience.

  “You seem awfully distracted.”

  “It’s—it’s nothing.”

  “Are you sure? ‘Cause it doesn’t seem like nothing,” she persists, now evidently much more curious.

  “It’s nothing important. Now, what did you say?”

  She heaves a sigh with a shake of her head when he refuses to give in but ends up focusing on the task at hand. He appreciates her for that—she is kind and caring enough to be concerned of him but doesn’t force him to say things he can’t yet name even to himself.

  “Your writing is brilliant, just like always. The mistakes I spotted aren’t big; you needn’t worry about those too much. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of. So, why does it still seem like something is missing from it?”

  Ben sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, running his hand through his hair.

  “I— I wish that I knew. Because I know what you mean. But the words, they just… refuse to come out in a way I want them to.”

  “And then you end up keeping them inside because you fear they’ll never be as good as you imagine them to be,” she says, eyes set in a way he would usually depict as a frown, but it’s not as stern. What she says is not even a question but a fact, something she seems to be familiar with.

  “Exactly.”

  “I know it won’t be easy to you, Ben, but I want you to stop holding the words back. Even if they don’t turn out to be what you wanted. The first step to anything is to write it down. The rest of it comes later. Just write. You can do that, right?”

  “I can’t make any promises,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle, “but I will try.”

  “Good. That’s all I ask. There’s never any harm in trying.”

  The encouraging smile Maz gives him makes Ben truly want to try.

\--

  Sunday morning dawns clear and bright. Ben wakes up surprisingly late, a little after nine—his body is clearly trying to make up for all the lost hours of sleep whenever it gets the chance to do so. His nerves usually keep him awake, but for some reason he was able to sleep well, even with the anxious thoughts that churn inside him more often than not. Maybe it truly is the change of scenery that gives him the possibility to do so. He wouldn’t put it past him.

  He knows where he wants to go today but isn’t sure if that’s a good idea or not. It’d be desperate to go to the coffee house again if his only agenda was to see her. For all he knows, Rey might not be working there today. But he did like the coffee, overpriced and all.

  So, he ends up going, and tries to convince himself that it’s only for the drink, not for the impossibly fascinating woman he knows hardly anything of.

  Sunday is just getting started, so there aren’t too many customers around when he arrives. Ben takes a seat on the counter instead of the booth he last time sat in, and soon enough Rey emerges from the backroom. He wants to deny the relief that floods through him when she gives him a smile and a kind greeting, but fails rather badly.

 “I didn’t expect you to come back. Was the coffee really that good?”

  He chuckles at that. “I’m here for three more days. I really liked the coffee though, so I wanted to pay another visit since I have time.”

  “You’ll have the same as yesterday, then?”

  “Yes,” he says, then, as an afterthought, because he’s always been chastised for not being polite enough and maybe, he could start now: “Please.”

  Rey gives him a small smile and turns her back on him, reaching out for a cup. With keen eyes Ben follows her as she goes through the motions so fluidly, measuring the coffee grounds with such practised precision it’s pleasant to look at. Engrossed in her work, she doesn’t spare a glance to him, but there’s genuine curiosity evident in her voice as she speaks to him again.

  “What are you doing here in Takodana? Is it something got to do with your writing?”

  He is surprised by her initiation for conversation, once again. But this time, he gathers himself faster.

  “It is, actually. I had a meeting with my editor yesterday and for the rest of the trip I’m just going to spend on my own. I don’t get to travel much.”

  “And here I thought that writers travel a lot,” she says, amused. “Where are you from?”

  “I- I was born in Chandrila but I studied in Coruscant. I’m back in Chandrila now, though.”

  “Oh, I’ve always wanted to visit Coruscant! Or Chandrila.”

  “You don’t want to go to Coruscant,” he insists. “It’s far too crowded and most definitely overpriced.”

  She laughs at that, a sweet little sound, like he said something funny. Then her expression shifts as she reaches over the counter to hand him his cup. He only nods as a form of _Thank you_ , since he can see that she clearly has something to say, and he doesn’t want to break the silence she’s using to gather her next words.

  “Well, when you’re from Jakku any place is better than that.”

  “You were born in Jakku?”

  Her face becomes stern, but there’s something resolute in there too; he can see it in way she nods before clarifying:

  “I moved here three years ago. Best decision I could’ve ever made.”

  “That’s very brave of you. Living on your own isn’t easy,” he says, recalling his own days in Coruscant, especially those in the beginning. Moving to another city had been what he wanted at the time. The knowledge that he was all on his own in a place he knew nothing about was an educating experience, to say the least. Especially being so young and reckless. So, he cannot even begin to imagine what it was like for her, to move from a barren, deserted wasteland of a city to somewhere as green and efficient as Takodana.

  “I was nineteen. After I applied to the university here and got accepted—gods know how—I jumped onto the first train and haven’t looked back since.” One simple sentence, but it tells him enough. He can sense she’d rather not talk about it too much at the moment, so he doesn’t ask her to elaborate. He knows the feeling all too well, the unpleasant flush whenever he’s forced to talk about things he doesn’t want to; he wants to spare her from that.

  They fall silent for a short moment, and he desperately tries to think of  something to say so that the conversation can continue. She is intriguing, to say the least. Something in her is pulling him in in a strange way, and he finds himself wanting to hear her say something, anything. The juxtaposition of what she has to say and how she says it is one of a kind. Her soft and cheery exterior seems to hide a human of great profundity.

  “I’m sorry for going on and on, I shouldn’t have bothered you. You’re here for the coffee.”

  Well, that was one of the things he did _not_ want her to say.

  “No, don’t think I’m not interested!” he says, hastily. The last thing he wants is for her to think he doesn’t care, because, well, he most definitely does. “I—I’m just not all that good with small talk. I really would like to hear more if you’re willing to tell.”

  Rey looks at him in a new way—a little surprised, he notices. Then she smiles.

  “If you insist. But first, tell me your name.”

  Kriff. He’d somehow forgotten that they never properly introduced themselves to one another. Maybe because he learned her name instantly he somehow thought she’d know his too.

  “It’s Ben.”

  “Well, Ben…” she starts, trying out the name. It sounds genuine and honest coming from her; there’s no additional weight he has learned to listen for whenever it’s said. “How about in exchange you tell me something about yourself?”

  “That can be arranged.”

  And the arrangement keeps.

  For nearly half an hour, long after he’s drained his coffee, they take turns asking and answering questions in an unusually friendly manner. As far as Ben knows, you don’t usually end up talking this openly to a stranger you hardly know; before their conversation he only knew her name and the fact that she’s an engineering major. Now each moment he learns something new about her, sharing bits of himself in return. He’s still a bit baffled by the simple fact that she seems to be genuinely interested in him. She nods along in encouragement whenever he ends up rambling on a topic and smiles or even laughs when he says something particularly amusing, usually something related to the shenanigans of his students—he’s certain she can relate to some of them.

  When she tells him she has yet to meet her soulmate, something unidentifiable uncurls deep inside him, an odd tension he wasn’t aware of. He brushes it quickly aside to respond that he too, is still searching, even if rather reluctantly—although he leaves the last part unsaid. After all, it’s nothing unusual, to not meet your soulmate until you’re adult. Most people stumble upon them in their twenties. Those who are fortunate enough to cross paths in childhood are not very common, but it’s possible if the circumstances happen to be on your side.

   He is glad Rey hasn’t found her soulmate. He doesn’t have a lot of time to linger on that thought though, because her reaction to his own words surprise him. She says nothing negative, merely nods and moves on to another topic. Finding a person in the beginning of his thirties without a soulmate seems to be a shocking surprise to most people, and they tend  to pity him, even if only a little. But she is nothing of the sort.

  They don’t even talk about their marks. Usually two people who have not met their soulmates will share their marks, in one fashion or another. But she skips that part entirely and ends up telling Ben about her best friend and his boyfriend’s erratic budgie instead. He listens to her stories keenly—they prove to be actually interesting.

  All things must come to an end, no matter how unexpectedly enjoyable they are. After a while Rey tells him that her shift ends in an hour, and she still has some organizing to do in the backroom. Somewhat disappointed—and already unconsciously planning to  return tomorrow—Ben begins to gather himself and leave. Before that happens, she speaks again.

  “Are you doing anything tomorrow? Because I just thought that maybe I could show you around Takodana a little. If you’d like to, that is.”

  She really is something else, constantly surprising him by revealing a new side of her. Her voice has a nervous edge now, even though she tries her hardest to sound casual. Why should she be nervous?

  “Yeah, I—I’d like that a lot.”

  “That’s great,” she says, visibly relieved. “There’s this botanical garden in the outskirts of the city that we could visit. I think you’d like it.”

  “That sounds nice. When does your shift end tomorrow?”

  “I don’t work tomorrow, actually. But my classes end at three. If we could meet here at three thirty?”

  “Sure. It’s a date, then,” he says before he can comprehend the words’ meaning.

  Thankfully, she only smiles in return. If she understood it differently, she doesn’t say anything and saves him from any embarrassment.

  “It’s a date.”

   _A date_ , his mind repeats as he steps out of the coffee house. His heart feels uncharacteristically light, and a new kind of excitement churns inside him. He is both thrilled and unbelievably terrified in a way he has never been before.

  She is _not_ his soulmate. How could she be? And because of that, this won’t last. Just like anyone else from before, she is bound to leave him at some point and forget all about him. It feels false, comparing her to the others he has been with before, even though they haven’t even technically done anything yet, and probably never will. She is merely being polite. Because of what he learned, even though she hasn’t met her soulmate yet, she still has a small, but trustworthy and lovely, circle of friends with whom she spends a lot of time. The same cannot be said of him; the number of people he considers as his friends has been drastically dropping during the years between his twenties and thirties. He doesn’t do friendships that well, and it only adds to the confusion why she seems to be so interested in him.

_What does she see in me?_

  The question follows him for the rest of the evening, constantly on the forefront of his mind.

\--

  The next morning is not as calm as the first one. Ben drifts to his room’s window and pulls open the curtains, mid-morning light flooding in. The sky above shines a bright, summery blue, still not giving in to the call of fall. He’s glad of it—if the weather was bad he doesn’t know what would’ve come of his and Rey’s upcoming meeting today.

  He tried not to think about it too much, but he is a natural brooder, so excessive pondering was bound to happen. The night went by surprisingly fast, though, and he doesn’t feel _too_ tired. Even if his sleep was made of short, disorienting bits that left him feeling like he didn’t actually sleep at all.

  After breakfast he comes back to his room, unsure whether he should head outside to kill time or just say inside. He takes a long, scorching shower where he tries his hardest not to think about anything—an act that he finds surprisingly difficult.  

  The late morning and midday are spent inside, and he only runs out to get sushi for lunch. He sits on his bed, the laptop next to him where his draft stares at him, repulsive but still somehow seductive. After a moment he writes down two sentences he’s been thinking for a week now, perfecting them in his head to the point of near exhaustion. They aren’t as good as he imagined. He ends up watching a kriffing nature documentary because the words just aren’t _right_. But he promised Maz that he would try, and so he doesn’t delete them. And he has to admit, they do belong there, between each and every other word that make up his novel.

  Finally, he leaves and heads to the coffee shop. It’s twenty past three when he arrives in front of it, earlier than he expected and jittery with nerves.

  It’s been ages since he last had anything resembling a date with someone—he never had the need to ask anyone, not in a long time. Now he’s here, caught up in a situation he tries his best to read correctly, to not feel as lost as he finds himself to be. _This is just a friendly excursion,_ he reminds himself. He needs to stop overthinking.

  Thankfully, Rey is early as well. Only a few minutes after he feels a tap on his back, and he turns around to find her standing there.

  The first thought to come to his mind is that she looks stunning. Not that she didn’t before—it’s just his first time seeing her outside her work environment, and her orange apron has changed to a high-collared blue dress with a floral pattern on it. The light dust of her freckles is visible to him now that they’re only less than a foot apart, and he gets to take in her immense hazel eyes. Her hair is different, too: it’s free from the buns, and while it’s shorter than he expected, the look fits her well.

  “I hope you didn’t have to wait too long,” she says, genuine concern in her voice.

  “I didn’t, don’t worry about that. Shall we?”

  He realizes he doesn’t actually have the faintest idea where they’re supposed to go. Rey seems to see this, and says, “Sure. I was thinking we’d take the tram. It’s the fastest and easiest. There’s a stop just around the corner.”

She sets out and he follows, and they fall quickly back into the casual but genuinely enjoyable conversation on the way. Rey recounts her rather boring day of school to him—her most tiring and cumbersome classes are on Mondays. When she asks him about his day, he merely says he spent it writing.

  “By the way, you never told me what it is that you write about. Or is it a secret?” she inquires as they reach the stop.

  He has to choose his words carefully, and stays silent for a moment because of that, a little bit awkwardly. By revealing too much she will undoubtedly make the connection of what he writes about and who he is as a writer.

  “It’s rather heavy stuff. Self-reflection, regrets, and redemption. I’d say it’s something of a coming-of-age kind of thing,” he eventually says.

  “That sounds actually really interesting,” she replies sincerely. “Can I read it once it’s done?”

  “You can be the first, if you want to,” he says, voice soft, almost too quiet. But the smile she gives him indicates that she did hear him.

  They step inside the tram once it arrives, already nearly full with middle-class workers who used their chance to leave work a bit earlier than usual. Rey guides them to the back of the carriage, telling him they’ll have to ride a good while.

  “But it’s definitely worth it. I mean, the outdoor gardens aren’t that pretty anymore this late, but there’s this huge greenhouse that’s always open and the flowers are always in bloom.”

  She goes on, painting him a scene with her words, of the outdoor gatherings that she has with her friends there on mellow summer evenings when it’s chilly but still warm enough and the flowers in the garden are in their full glory. Her storytelling is animated and detailed, Ben has noticed. Her stories are never glorified or exaggerated. She tells things because she wants him to enjoy and experience the memory as if he’d been there as well.

  They’re practically touching now, squished up in between of the other passengers. He holds onto the railing on the ceiling with one hand to stay upright, right next to her. Whenever there’s a sharp turn their hands brush together, a touch she doesn’t seem to notice but one he can’t ignore.

  Their stop comes after twenty minutes, long after the vast majority of the passengers have gotten off at stops along the way. They’re on the outskirts of the city now, and it only takes them a few minutes to leave the final buildings behind, the cobblestone streets turning into unpaved roads with wildflowers wilting on the edges. The afternoon sun hides behind puffy clouds that float in the sky, peeking out every now and then to bestow warmth for a fleeting moment before disappearing again. Rey walks with a confident step, even as she marvels at the familiar scenery.

  Right on the edge of the forest that surrounds Takodana, a huge glass pyramid rises from the earth, visible from a great distance. Around it, a tall hedge draws the lines of the outside garden, tops of the trees skimming over it. It looks nearly otherworldly, completely out of place right in the middle of nowhere, on the side of an old road, slowly merging into the wild forest that looms behind it.

  The outdoors isn’t in the best condition anymore, just like Rey said. But some of the flowers still bear their late bloom as they walk along the path towards the greenhouse, gravel crunching beneath their feet.

  The greenhouse is even bigger on the inside than he imagined it to be—Rey tells him it’s over sixty feet high. An unfathomable number of plants of all kinds have taken root in this building, some of them trying to reach all the way to the ceiling. The colors are endless, and in the air lingers the scent of wet earth after rain. It’s startlingly quiet, and Ben realizes there are no other people in here besides him and Rey. It feels as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist, the whole universe shrinking to the size of the greenhouse.

  The first section is _Temperate Climate Section_ , or so a yellow sign before him reads. A small tiled pavement splits into two, leading in opposite directions. Around the pavement are numerous plants, some evergreen, most of them blooming. Ben recognizes windflowers, snowdrops, different types of ivies, lupins—there’s so much to look at that he loses the track of everything for a while. Once he recovers, he begins to share his knowledge of the flowers to her. Whenever he spots flora he knows, he tells Rey its name, maybe even the scientific one if he remembers. For some of them, he still remembers how and where they usually give flowers, and how long for. Some flowers they pass are poisonous or carry special types of berries or seeds—he also tells Rey about those. And she listens to him all the while.

  They stop in front of enormous hydrangeas. The particular bunch is over five feet tall at least, and full of beautiful pale pink and lilac blooms. Ben likes to think he doesn’t favor any flower over the other, since they all have their own type of beauty, but he has a soft spot for hydrangeas. They are graceful but not fragile, traits he admires.

  “How come you know so much about these things?” she asks after a moment, running her finger along one of the petals.

  “My uncle is a botanist, so a lot of his stuff rubbed off on me. Skywalker was so immersed with these things and he wanted me to learn, too. Even though I wasn’t that interested.”

  Rey turns her head to him, curious eyes looking up. “Skywalker. As in Luke Skywalker?”

  “Yeah. He was my uncle. Is.”

  She is silent for a moment, then says:

  “You’re Ben _Solo_ then. Han and Leia’s son.”

  Now it’s his turn to look at her puzzledly. “You’ve heard of me before?”

  “I didn’t recognize you, I swear. I know Han Solo, though.”

  “You know him?”

 “Well, not personally. I just used to adore him when I was younger,” she explains. While Ben knows his father had a lot of fans, it does take him off guard to hear that she was one of them. “You know, back in Jakku things weren’t… the most ideal, but I managed. I always did. I just did a lot of stuff a child shouldn’t. I remember sneaking into his races, a few of them were held nearby. I guess I envied his lifestyle. I remember thinking that whoever who was his child would be so lucky to have him as their father.”

  “I wish that I could say something to confirm your thoughts, but…” he trails off, not quite sure whether he should just tell the truth. He doesn’t want to crush her dreams about it, though, no matter how young she was when she thought of them. “He wasn’t always a great father. He would’ve disappointed you.”

  “I’m sure it would’ve been better than what I had.”

  “Who were your parents then?”

  “That’s just it. I—I have no idea,” she says, her gaze somewhere far away, in a place he cannot follow her to. For a moment he thinks he should stop her from continuing, that it’s too much for her, but she goes on before he gets a chance. “I was left on the doorstep of an orphanage. I never found out who they were. Or if they’re even alive anymore.”

  Now she looks at him, eyes glossed over and he realizes this is what she was hiding behind her gentle smiles. His mind is running, desperate to say something comforting to her. She has shied her gaze away, waiting for the rejection.

  “Rey, I—I’m sure you don’t want to hear how sorry I am. You must hear it enough already. But I am, because nobody should have to endure something like that. And I don’t know if it helps, but I’ve had my share of bad things as well. Not the same as yours, but… If there’s anything that I’ve learned is that you can’t choose your family. And you don’t need to be like them. In fact, it’s better if you strive to be yourself. You can’t let them stop you from doing that.”

  Rey gives him a smile, but it’s weak and watery. “I know what you mean Ben, and I appreciate it, I really do. But you at least have people you can compare yourself to. You know what you don’t want to be. And—and I’ve no idea who I’m trying my hardest not to become. I might as well be a no-one.”

  His heart is thundering at his chest, a fragile little thing, begging to be set free. Her confession is a lot to take in, that’s for sure, and the words he just said were an impulsive decision, but how could he not comfort her? He might not fully know or understand what she has gone through, but if anything, back when he was younger, he wanted nothing more than to be _heard_. He still does. Rey deserves that, the simple act of acknowledgement that might not take what happened away, but at least it gets to be known. Every burden becomes lighter when it’s shared, even if just a little.

  “You aren’t a no-one, Rey,” he says, voice wavering but words true, “not to me, at least. I know it isn’t a lot, we hardly even know each other but—”

  Suddenly, she steps an inch closer and reaches out for his left hand with her right one, fingertips tentatively gracing until he feels her palm slide against his; the lenient touch quickly transforms into something firm, reassuring. Grounding.

  “Thank you.”

  He can only look at her, all of his words gone. But she doesn’t seem to expect any, and merely tugs him along as they walk along the brick path, lush greenery all around them. They step into a new room; _Subtropical Monsoon Section_ , another yellow sign by his right reads. The air is much more damp, the blooms in each flower much more vibrant, altering from bright oranges and sharp reds to deep violets. They walk in silence for a good while, a slow, steady pace, hands still laced together. Then Rey stops, and Ben turns to look at her. She takes a deep breath and speaks:

  “I’m sorry for souring the mood.”

  “You didn’t do that. So, don’t be,” Ben responds, shaking his head simultaneously. “I’m glad you told me. It—It can’t have been easy.”

   “I’ve gotten used to it. I mean, I don’t tell it to everyone I meet but… I felt like you needed to know,” she reasons, eyes cast downwards and he swears there’s a blush creeping on her freckled cheeks. Or maybe he’s just seeing things. “But can we forget that for now?”

  “Of course.”

  They walk through the last room until they’re back where they started. The air between them is different now, a little bit uncomfortable and tense in a way it wasn’t before. Ben tries to not focus on it, but only on their joined hands that still refuse to release the hold they have as they exit the greenhouse. He couldn’t have ever foreseen the way their trip would turn out—but it doesn’t matter to him, because the things Rey told him don’t change much of his opinion on her. He _is_ glad that Rey saw him as important enough to tell him, though.

  Outside, the wind has picked up a little, but the last rays of sun keep them warm enough on their way back to the tram stop. His phone tells them the time to be half past six when they board the tram again, now nearly empty of other passengers.

  “Can we go eat somewhere? I’m hungry,” Rey asks once they’ve sat down. They aren’t holding hands anymore, but they sit close together, sides pressed against one another.

  “Sounds good to me. You got a place in mind?”

  They leave the tram a few stops before the coffee shop, and Rey leads him to a restaurant on a narrow alleyway behind the main road. It’s small, but pleasantly so, and he even gets to meet one of her friends who works there. The girl introduces herself as Rose, the owner’s daughter, and proves to be rather enjoyable company. By the time they are finished with their dishes, the slight tension has faded away and he even finds himself genuinely laughing in more than one occasion, always at something Rey says.

  The overjoyed look she gives him makes him want to laugh again, just so that he could see the smile on her face once more.

\--

  The sun has set by the time they head back to the coffee house, and the streetlights have lit up. The conversation between them has quieted down, and they don’t talk as much, but now it doesn’t feel forced or uncomfortable. He merely enjoys her presence, and tries not to think about what will happen in a few moments once they are to go on their separate ways.

  But they don’t.

  The coffee shop is closed once they reach it. They stop in front of its door, and she turns to look at him. There’s something in her eyes that he can’t quite place; they are strangely illuminated by the absence of light.

  ”I guess this is it, then,” he says, trying his hardest not to sound as disappointed as he feels.

  “Or we could go to my place, if you want to,” she blurts out. ”I make a mean Irish coffee, or so I’ve been told.”

  Hope rises in his chest, quickly replacing the disappointment as he registers her words. Then it changes into faint doubt—he knows exactly what she’s inviting him in for, and it is not coffee. The first thought to cross his mind is that he should politely decline; he’s had his small number of one-night stands and they’ve never ended well. Accepting her offer will probably get him hurt even more in the long run, he is certain of that. He’s already grown attached to her, even though he knows she is not his and will never be. She is someone else’s, marked to another person before she was even born. The blinding truth of it should send him running. Yet his feet say in place.

  Because neither of them has met their soulmate yet. They’re both lonely, starved and deprived of another person’s touch. The yearning for a certain kind of intimacy burns deep in both of them. Looking up to meet Rey’s gaze—demure but also incredibly deep, full of some emotion he can’t quite identify but must be visible in his eyes as well.

  He reaches out his hand, and she takes it, a pleased smile spreading across her features. The streetlamps cast her in a yellow tint, and a cool evening breeze picks up, guiding their way as they set out towards her apartment, hands tightly entwined. Every once in a while, Rey glances up to share a look with him, full of anticipation but still somewhat tense around the edges. He squeezes her hand in encouragement each time, soothing both his and her nervous minds. Ben can’t help it. He knows she wouldn’t have asked him anything if she didn’t truly want it, but the insecurities follow him nevertheless. They know each other now, much deeper than acquaintances of a only few days should. And she hasn’t shied away. He knows _he_ wouldn’t, no matter what he else found out about her. So, he has no other choice but to trust her to do the same.

  Rey lives in an apartment complex that’s a little bit on the older side, only a handful of blocks away from the coffee shop. When they reach the door, she has to let go of his hand to fish her keys out to unlock it. As they step inside the corridor she locks arms with him, like an old married couple. They slip into a small elevator and she sends it to the third floor, not letting go of him at any point.

  He’s read enough books to know that tight spaces, especially elevators, are never good when it comes to situations like this. It feels extremely cliché, but he’s sure he can feel the tension in the air around them, low on frequency but persistent, settling somewhere inside him. He doesn’t get to act on his thoughts, though, and only shares one look with her before they arrive to the right floor.

  Hands still locked together she pulls him along until they reach her door and she opens it. Nearly immediately on his left is an entry to a small kitchen, in front of him an apparent door to her bathroom, and on the right, where she leads him—after they’ve toed off their shoes and shed their jackets—is a one big room that works both as the living room and the bedroom. For a studio, she has managed to make the space open and comfortable. _Rey_ seems to be written all around the place; there are cluttered stacks of books, both fictional and non-fictional. He can even spy _The Days Before Us_ on her bedside table, a worn-out paperback with notes between the pages. There’s one philodendron on the corner by her bed, and three succulents on her windowsill.

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone today, so it’s a bit of a mess. Sorry about that.”

  She wasn’t expecting him? Her decision to invite him here must’ve been impulsive, then. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not — it definitely changes the way he previously thought. Maybe she feels compelled to make it up to him and only invited him in for that reason. Whatever it is, he finds himself admiring it, her courage to do whatever her heart wishes in the moment. If she can make steadfast decisions on the go, perhaps he could as well. He has done that already, hasn’t he? He ended up comforting her in the greenhouse even though he had no idea how she would react to his words. Following his impulses has so far paid off, and he’s terribly afraid, but can’t let a chance like this go to waste.

  “So—”she starts just as he says:

  “May I kiss you?”

  The words tumble out of the tip of his tongue in a frenzy, and not as charming as he briefly imagined them to be. Rey turns to look at him, face blank for a moment and he fears he has been gravely mistaken, completely misunderstanding all the signs and signals she gave him. _Maybe she hasn’t even thought of you that way_ , his anxious mind chirps in.

  But then she smiles, wide and hopeful and relieved, stepping closer.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she whispers breathlessly, still smiling, and before he gets to say anything more she has already closed the distance between them.

  The first kiss is nothing more than a gentle brush of lips, a chaste touch, so he has only a fleeting moment to marvel how _soft_ she is. Then she pulls away.

  “You still want that coffee?” she murmurs against his lips, hers turning into a smirk.

  “Maybe in the morning,” he dares to respond, and doesn’t miss the hopeful glint in her eyes. He’s here for the rest of the night, no matter the consequences.

  This rewards him another kiss, one that’s simple and short but no less sweet, and he knows he said the right thing. After a second, he feels her hand on his shoulder, right on top of his mark. It’s an accident, of course, and she has no idea how the seemingly innocent, reassuring touch affects him; it’s been so long since someone touched him like this, especially on that particular place. His gasp of surprise seems to go unnoticed as she parts her lips against his lightly, coaxing him to do the same. His hands settle on either side of her hips for balance, and he opens his mouth to her, tongues meeting briefly.

  The kiss is quickly replaced with another one, and another. Alternating from modest and short presses of lips to open-mouthed and devouring kisses, they spend a while just testing out the waters of what feels good to them both. None of the kisses are particularly graceful, but they don’t mind. What matters more is the pleasure that follows, even if there happens to be a few accidental nose-bumps that end the kiss because one of them starts smiling—they’re all part of the process. It’s easy, and it feels _right_ , and every minute that passes melts away the worries he harbored over any of it.

  And then it’s not enough. The softness of her lips is enticing, but he is burning to know what she feels like elsewhere, too. She is full of surprises, and somehow he knows she hasn’t run out of them just yet.

  When they slow down to catch their breaths he brings his other hand to her hair, messed up from the wind outside but still soft and light, and he wonders if there’s any part of her that isn’t appealing to him. Ben moves to press his lips to her jaw, and then below and further, reveling in the sharp intake of her breath as he covers her neck with kisses. But he is unable to get very far—the high collar of her dress meets him far sooner than he expected. He growls against her skin, a sound emerging from somewhere deep inside him. He pulls back, slightly frustrated, to see her snicker at him.

  It’s the perfect turning point for her. Kissing him again, Rey begins the job of getting rid of his shirt, one vexatious button at a time. He is one to finish what he starts, and so he finds the zipper of her dress quickly. She steps out of the dress as he drops his shirt to the floor.

  The sight of her in front of him, nearly bare and blushing, makes a new wave of desire rise in him, until...

  “Rey,” he says astounded, mind suddenly reeling because that mark, _his_ mark, it’s right there, imprinted on her sternum. It is same radiant star that adorns him, the ever-fixed Polaris. The lines are a precise replica of his, reaching out with the surreal glow he knows cannot be found anywhere else but on him.

  In response she looks down to her mark, and then up again to meet his eyes with a furrowed brow.

  “I thought you didn’t mind. I mean—”

  “It’s not that.”

  “What is it, then?”

  He pulls his t-shirt off rather unceremoniously and catches a glimpse of her widened eyes that try to take in his half-nude form before he turns around, baring his back to her.

  A sharp, surprised gasp leaves her, and then he feels her fingertips on his skin, running over his mark with such a gentle touch it makes him shiver. She steps closer and lays her palm flat against his skin, covering the Polaris.

  “It is you…” she whispers, awestruck, and when he turns to look at her again, a perplexed but remarkably wide smile splits her face.

  Something warm blooms beneath his breastbone at the sight of her, as if he’s seeing her for the first time. And in a way he is—now, he sees what he found so familiar in her. The unexpected pull of her, the warm light in her that kept him intrigued, they all begin to make sense. Her hazel eyes are not those of a stranger, someone he barely knows, but bright and well-known, twinkling like the star of their mark.

  “I didn’t expect this at all,” is all he can say, but it is the truth, even if he should’ve seen the rather obvious signs.

  “Well, me neither,” she responds with a soft laugh, reaching out her hand to frame his face, small hand meeting flushed cheek. “But I am so glad that it is you.”

  Ben turns his head against her palm and presses a timid but firm kiss right in the middle of it. “So am I.”

  The idea has yet to sink into him properly, that this beautiful woman in front of him is his soulmate. But she’s right there, positively giddy from the surprise and his finds himself utterly besotted by her. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and he would find it alarming but he knows that they’re not born out of sadness, but of pure joy. Maybe a little bit of disbelief, too.

  He bends down to kiss away the tear that escapes her, catching the salty drop before it gets to run down her cheek. Then he presses his forehead against hers and for a moment they just are and breathe, completely forgetting that they’re standing still half-dressed in the middle of her living room. She has to rise on her tiptoes to achieve this touch properly, and he bends his head to meet her half-way, and he finds their height difference incredibly endearing. One of her hands slowly smooths  his hair, while the other traces the lines of his mark. The touch is so precise he realizes she knows the lines by heart already and was only waiting for him to find his way to her.

  After a moment the fire that simmered down at the sacred revelation rears its head again, reminding him of the hum in his veins that brought him here in the first place, into her arms. He kisses her again, a little bit too eagerly, clumsiness bleeding through. If she notices this, she doesn’t mind, only encourages him to continue by pressing against him and opening her mouth to him. When he nips at her lower lip, her hand tightens in his hair, and he groans against her mouth.

  Her hands descend to his hips, slowly pulling Ben along with her as they take tentative steps towards her bed.  When the backs of her knees meet the mattress she sinks down on it, running her hands down his still-clothed thighs and then back again to undo the button of his trousers.

  He lets them fall and steps out of them, and now he is most definitely not imagining things—her mouth is slightly parted, and she stares at him in awe. The scrutiny becomes a bit too much, so he decides to solve the issue by lifting her until she’s in the middle of the bed, looking up at him and laughing at the sudden movement.

  “You’re beautiful. Breathtaking.”

  He has to say that, really, for she _is_ a kriffing vision, literally taking his breath away, sprawled out beneath him like that. There’s a deep blush making its way from her cheeks down her neck. The look in her eyes is filled with anticipation that he too, shares; so very deeply what if he doesn’t get his hands on her in a minute he cannot say what the consequences will be.

  But as always, she surprises him. With more strength than he foolishly thought she’d have, Rey flips them over in one swift movement so that now he’s the one pressed into the mattress, the one on display as her gaze runs over him. He feels terribly and undeniably exposed, but safe, too.

  “Is this alright?”

  “Of course. More than alright,” he responds, eyes searching hers, trying to convey everything he cannot say out loud through a look. “Just—It’s been a while.”

  “Same here. It didn’t feel right, you know?”

  Now, now he has to reach out to cradle her face in his hands and pull her closer. Her small form hovers over him and it’s been a long time since he has felt as safe as he does now. His thumbs skim over her cheekbones as their eyes slip close, mouths meeting in a soft kiss. It isn’t the same kind of eager like the ones they shared before were, but it’s full of desire, years’ worth of longing that only demands _more_.

  “You’re beautiful, too” she says once they pull apart, gaze soft and voice genuine. “I had a hard time keeping my eyes off you.”

  He blinks at that, unsure what to say—the adoring looks she has given him have told him that she finds him attractive, but hearing it from her out loud feels different. Luckily, she doesn’t expect him to speak, already descending her lips on his neck, mouthing the way down from his jawline to his collarbone. There is a peculiar type of gracefulness in her movements, because it still doesn’t hide the fact how much she wants him. She doesn’t shy away or act modest or demure, only gives and takes in equal measures. And so, she doesn’t mind one bit when during a particularly heated kiss he takes control again, pressing her against the bed while they both hastily finish the task of undressing.

  It’s… different. Not in the way he might’ve imagined to be, something earth-shattering and otherworldly. The strangest thing is that it actually _is_ all that, but only in a subtle way that requires something more. He wouldn’t notice it otherwise if he couldn’t see her mark and press his lips against it as he eases himself into her. He somehow knows he wouldn’t feel it if they hadn’t shared all those kisses a moment before or held hands at the greenhouse.  Without their conversations in the coffee shop, this would be just something meaningless, a quick release of tension which he would forget in a few days.

  That’s when he realises that maybe they make up the meaning for it themselves. Because the way she looks at him, lips parting in a silent gasp stirs up a storm inside him. Suddenly, it’s nothing like he’s ever felt before, and he is drowning in it, the amount of emotion. He’s drowning in her.

  His mind is opaque and cloudy, every part of his being solely focused on her; the glorious sight she is underneath him, pleasure evident not only on her face but in the way she merely _is_ ; the sounds she makes, from quiet, restrained whimpers to something much heavier, a reverent repetition of his name to which he responds to with hers. They search for themselves in one another, call out each other’s names in an attempt to shorten the inevitable gap between them as the physical distance becomes too much. They’re as close as they will ever be, and it almost isn’t enough. The thought should shake him, but then he feels her hand against his mark again, grounding him, pulling him back from his mind to the moment, where all he feels is _her_.

   _I’m here_ , she speaks without words. He opens his eyes to see her, smiling so blindingly he’s pretty sure he’s looking at the sun. _You are not alone_.

  He stops his movements to caress her mark, returning the reminder. Her heartbeat thunders beneath his hand, the erratic rhythm matching with his.

   _Neither are you_.

\--

  Ben finds out quickly how well their bodies fit against one another, no doubt a product of their universal compatibility. Exhausted but sated, they lie on the bed for a moment in silence, catching their breaths as they come down from their respective highs. He rests on his back with Rey on top of him, head on his chest while his fingers map a path down her back.

  “Care to tell me now what other books you’ve written?”

  Her voice is teasing but soft, and he knows he cannot hide the truth from her, not anymore, since they’ve completely bared themselves to one another. But he doesn’t even want to.

  “Well, I’ve actually only published one. And it’s right there.”

  He motions to the book on her bedside table. Once she realizes what he means, she gasps.

  “No way! _You’re_ Kylo Ren?”

  “It’s more of a pen name, really.”

  But she doesn’t listen and has already buried her face in his chest with a groan.

  “And you didn’t say anything!” comes her slightly irritated voice. Ben wants to laugh at her reaction, but regret starts to seep in and he wonders if he should’ve actually told her right away.

  “You just really seemed to like the book and I…” he tries to explain, nearly stuttering, “I didn’t want you to change your opinion about me.”

  She raises her head and looks at him, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

  “Why would I have done that?”

  “I wanted to tell you at first, really. But all the people who know me personally never speak honestly to me when it comes to my writing. I—I don’t know what they’re afraid of, but they always hold something back. It was such a change to see you sound so genuinely interested. People aren’t—they either love me because they don’t know me or despise me because they do.”

  “Have they really made you think so? Because I like to think I don’t despise you even though I know you.”

  “You aren’t like the others. But there’s so much of me you don’t know yet.”

  “I know. But you don’t know all of me yet either,” she counters, lifting her hand to run the tip of her finger along the curve of his gently parted lips. “We all have a past, we’ve gone through things we regret and have memories we’d rather forget. I think that if anyone can say that, it’s us.”

  Before he has a chance to say anything Rey continues, now with a smile on her face:

  “You know, I was so nervous at first. Because right from the moment I saw you, I knew I just had to talk to you, for a reason I didn’t know. And I was afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same, that you’d just think me as some weird stranger with no personal boundaries.”

  At that, he can’t help but chuckle. He catches her hand and presses his lips on her knuckles, then her palm. “I assure you, I wouldn’t have thought of that. Because I felt it too. Whatever it was.”

  “I think we both know now what it was.”

  Rey pulls up from their embrace so that she can kiss him properly. It lands short, though—as soon their lips touch she bursts into a wide smile. Then she has to pull away for the giggle that erupts from deep inside her, clear and delightful.

  “What is it?” he asks, on the edge of bursting into laughter as well, and nudges his nose against hers in an attempt to make her speak.

  “Nothing.”

  But she’s still grinning, positively delirious. It’s ridiculous, but he likes to think he knows what she means. Because he’s happy, too—an odd but long-awaited sense of completion has made its home somewhere inside him, where he once felt irritated and unstable. There’s no particular reason for his elated feeling, except her, of course.

  The clock on her bedside table tells him it’s only a little bit after nine. But the day has been such a whirlwind that he’s more than tired. He also has a train to catch at eight the next morning, and he has to swing by the hotel before heading to the station. He tells her that.

  “Okay. But—can I come with you? To see you off?”

  “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

  And it’s the truth.

  Somewhere between the softly spoken conversations and the reassuring touches they fall asleep. For the first time in a long while he only dreams of sweet things, the echo of her step against the pavement and the sunlight.

\--

  He wakes up before he really needs to, somewhere around six, but he can’t bear to go back to sleep, not with her slumbering beside him. The dull morning light reaches through the parted curtains to dance on her face, and he can’t help but stare and admire her. Rey looks so peaceful, with her hair spilled all around and the curve of her shoulder peeking beneath the blanket where it’s swept aside. Somewhere in the night they drifted apart from their embrace, but she still lies close to him, curled up on her side and head on the same pillow.

  Instead of the cruel alarm he set, he decides to wake her up in a more pleasant way. He starts with a gentle kiss on her forehead. When she doesn’t flinch, he sets out to brush his lips on her brow, the tip of her nose, her chin. At that, her breathing changes and she burrows closer, right on the edge of consciousness. He pulls off the blanket to the side so that she’s exposed to the cold air. She shivers.

  “You made a big mistake, waking me up,” she mumbles, eyes still closed.

  He smirks at her words, lifting himself over her, hands and legs on either side of her body, caging her in so that she lies on her back. “Are you sure I can’t make it up to you?”

  “I really doubt— _oh_.”

  A newfound confidence has made its way into him, and the softness of sleep still has a hold of him, making things a little bit hazy. Without a second thought he kisses her mark as a chaste beginning. Then he begins to make his way further south languidly, punctuating his movements with kisses, some of them paired with touches of his tongue on her skin, or nips of his teeth against the soft flesh on her hip. He’s thorough, building a path upon her, guided by her sighs and her hand in his hair. They instruct him when he lifts her leg over his shoulder and lays his mouth on her.

  He begins slowly, taking his time without being overly cruel, but ends up leading her off the edge with sloppy, greedy movements that have her shaking with pleasure. There will be time for something more precise later. A thrill crawls through him at the realization as he lifts his head to look at her, eyes closed and panting, and he swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful. How naïve he was, to think that only one time would be enough with her. And now, it won’t be.

  Once her breathing has slowed down enough she pulls him up, up until their lips meet again. Their tongues curl against one another and her hand is already slipping downwards, dead set on returning the favor for him. And he lets her, sighing into the kiss.

  “For keeping your promise,” she whispers with a tantalizing smirk.

\--

  It’s five to eight, and the train is nowhere to be seen. The platform is devoid of others—nobody else is keen on taking the earliest train to Chandrila on a Tuesday morning. The skies are hidden now, by grey clouds that don’t carry any rain just yet but bring the cold winds with them. Ben wraps his hands around her and she buries her face in his neck, hiding away from the cold. He thanks the Maker that the inevitable cold weather held off until they met. Not that it matters—he would’ve met her in the soaking rain if that would’ve been the case, would’ve got to know her even in the most furious of thunderstorms.

  They exchanged their numbers just a moment before—he saw her put a bunch of silly heart emoticons and one big star after his name—and he promised to call her as soon as he gets home.

 _Home_. He doesn’t feel as relieved to return back to Chandrila as he thought he would. The idea of his empty apartment isn’t appealing anymore. His hands tighten around her and he presses his nose to her hair, already dreading the moment he has to let Rey go.

  It’s silly, it’s far too fast, but… He supposes that there is no other way for this to go. People don’t walk around preaching about soulmates in vain, he has realized over the course of these few days—it was easy to distance himself from it, and only because he had no idea what it felt like first-hand. There’s a lot of work to be done, plenty of things that still need to be talked through. But Ben wants to do it, fiercely. He can’t afford to lose this chance he has with her. And he’d be a hypocrite if he didn’t follow his own advice, the one he gave her in the greenhouse. He cannot be stopped by his past, or his parents. The want to prove not only to himself, but to the whole world as well that he can make it work, drives him forward.

  And then there’s Rey, still as beautiful when they first met, now maybe even more so. Now there’s the knowledge that she is actually meant to be his, just like he is hers, bound and marked by the universe. There’s the ecstasy, found in the newness of it all, and he’ll knows it’ll be amplified by the distance. She promised to come to Chandrila in two weeks, but before that, he knows there will be plenty of lonely days and nights.

  Far too soon, the train arrives with a loud whistle.

  He lets go of her grudgingly, pressing a kiss on her forehead as they pull apart. But she tugs him in by the collars of his jacket, for one more proper kiss.

  “I’ll see you soon,” Ben whispers, detaching himself of Rey even though his heart is screaming at him to stay, stay, _stay._ He gets a hold of her hand for one more moment, squeezing it tightly. She returns the touch and smiles.

  “Travel safely, alright?”

  “I promise.”

  Then he boards the train.

  When Ben gets to his seat, the train has already started moving and he can’t see Rey anymore. Just the buildings of Takodana, apartments and old structures that shift quickly back to the forest as he’s taken further and further away. He is almost glad of it—because if he had seen her once more he is pretty sure he would’ve run back to her, not caring about anything else even one bit—but only almost. _It’s not reasonable_ , he tries to think.

  Apparently, the rational part of his mind is just not at all useful when it comes Rey.

  For a moment he just looks out the window, trees blurring into one big amalgam of colour. Then his phone buzzes.

_is it too cheesy to say that i miss you already?_

  It’s from Rey, obviously, so he is quick to type a reply, but ends up having to erase his letters more than once because he’s just way too eager.

 

_Most definitely not._

_I miss you too._

  She sends a bright red heart to him in return.

  Ben takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, clutching the phone in his hand like it’s something precious. Right now, he’s not afraid—even though he already knows moments of uncertainty and fear are bound to happen eventually. But even if those moments are going to take place, there is one thing he is certain he won’t ever be afraid of: his Rey. He is patient and willing to wait and see how their intertwined stories will end up turning like.

  With those thoughts in mind, he opens up his laptop and begins to write again. While it’s still a struggle to write everything down without honing the words inside his head, they come easier now, and some of the scenes he’s been having trouble with begin to unravel. He even decides to write a few paragraphs featuring a lively brunette who lives her life to the fullest, despite the weight of the world on her shoulders. Who knows, the protagonist might learn something from her.

  After all, it’s always the unexpected that ends up being the best for us.

  

  

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i never thought my first properly finished and published fic would be a Reylo modern AU (and a piece for an anthology, no less) but here we are! this has been months in the making and i'm so glad to finally be able to publish it! i hope you like reading it as much as i liked writing it.
> 
> i'd like to thank my beta, jbrenz and the mods over at RFFA. this particular idea would've probably never seen the light of day without the anthology!
> 
> please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed, i'd love to know what you thought of it. i have a lot more ideas for this pairing and can't wait to share them in the future!


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